


Of Horselords and Shieldmaidens

by just_ann_now



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, April Showers 2014, Bad Poetry, Celebrations, Children, Drabble, F/M, Ficlet, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Love at First Sight, Ponyverse, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:59:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1415965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_ann_now/pseuds/just_ann_now
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted drabbles and ficlets pertaining to the Rohirrim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Braided Stream

**The Braided Stream**

 

The children of Éorl have no need for books; their history surrounds them like air, like water. With their mother's milk they begin to learn their people's memory in story and song, rhythm and pattern and detail. As they grow they observe, hear, mark, learn, and inwardly digest: past, present, and future a braided stream, endlessly flowing through and around them.

Others may call them uncultured, unlettered; yet the Éorlingas wonder at those who keep their history locked away in books, instead of breathing it anew each day, fresh as the scent of grass after rain, the color of sky.


	2. Call of the Wild

**Call of the Wild**

He is a man made for leather, not silk.

With tawny hair and leonine grace he makes the nobles of Gondor seem dull as grackles and harmless as coneys. Flushed with victory and acclaim, he fills the room with energy, proud and restless as a great beast.

_Like calls to like._ He turns, curious, as if feeling the heat of my gaze; I stand stock-still as he approaches. There are those who will fault me for my boldness, but I _will_ be his, and he will be mine; glory calls us in the echo of a faraway battle-horn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Thengel, son of Fengel, left Rohan when he came to manhood and lived long in Gondor, and won honour in the service of Turgon. He took no wife until late, but in 2943 he wedded Morwen of Lossarnach in Gondor, though she was seventeen years the younger. She bore him three children in Gondor of whom Théooden, the second, was his only son." _The Return of the King_ , Appendix A, "The Kings of the Mark"


	3. Like Calls To Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thengel's response to the previous ("Call of the Wild").

**Like Calls to Like**

Rubies do not suit her, nor ladylike pearls,  
Though opals may, perhaps, reflect her inner fire.  
Other men have sought to decorate her  
With jewels, and garish fripperies  
While whispering their blandishments in her ear.

I am not as other men.

I'll braid three strands of butter-soft leather  
Her life, and mine, and those of our children yet unborn.  
Her wrist needs no further ornament  
Nor pretty, pointless words to bind her heart.  
She'll look within me, and know I am true  
As grassland, earth, and sky, 'til world's ending.  
As I am hers, so she shall be mine.


	4. A River of Stars

**A River of Stars**

Once, when she was tiny, her grandmother wrapped Éowyn in her warmest blanket and carried her outside to look at the sky. More stars than she could ever count glimmered far above.

_Each star is a soul_ , Morwen said. The falling stars are souls rushing to the earth to be born. Those faraway dancing lights are souls returning in joy to the heavens, when their time here is done.

One night, high above the Dwimorberg, Éowyn recalled those words: Souls journeying from heaven to earth and back again, each soul a star, flowing on a river of stars, timeless, eternal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A birthday drabble for aervir.


	5. It's The Thought

**“It’s the thought….”**

Théodred brought the two children back to Edoras, riding with him on his own horse. He knew they would not immediately accept their new home – too many changes, too much pain. They would need to be coaxed, gentled, like the frightened creatures they were.

_Give them something_ , his old nurse had suggested. _Something to break the ice._ Then she astounded him by producing two long-forgotten treasures: a tattered stuffed pony, and a small wooden sword.

He gave Éowyn the pony. Much later he remembered the envious gleam in her eyes as she watched Éomer, slashing the air with his sword.


	6. Black Is the Color of my True Love's Hair

**Black Is the Color of my True Love's Hair**

 

Surely she had seen dark-haired men before, but none like him. His hair shines blacker than the sable trimming her finest robe. She wonders if it feels as soft.

The future had always seemed a faraway land, but she sees it in a flash: husband, home, children. Shadow or not, the future shines beacon-bright, with a dark-haired man at her side.

“My little cousin,” Théodred presents her, laughing, ruffling her hair.

“A pleasure, my lady,” Lord Boromir smiles. He bows low, as if she were a great lady of Gondor, not a thirteen year old girl with scabby knees.


	7. Anger Management

**Anger Management**

After the reaping comes the threshing. It is women’s work, exhausting and mindless, leaving too much opportunity for thinking. The way he's always looking at her, his glance sliding appraisingly along the curves of her body, no matter how hard she tries to disguise them. It makes her feel unclean, then angry at the injustice of it all. She wants to turn those thoughts away, fight them away, beat them away, beat them, beat them -

The other women on the threshing floor glance at each other, then move away, leaving her to her fury, battering helplessly at the wheaten stalks.


	8. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU. Because, het!Boromir, for one thing. This drabble should probably be rated "Mature".

**Promise**

He buries his fingers in her golden hair as her skillful tongue teases and dances, finally holding her steady as he thrusts, groaning, into that heat. 

Pulling her up from her knees, he laughingly carries her to the wide bed, where he slides her gown up to her waist, and down from her shoulders, returning the favor as she sighs and gasps. Even her secret places taste to him of sunlight, of youth.

 _Ahh, Eowyn,_ Boromir murmurs. _You will make some lucky man a fine wife._

 _Perhaps_ , she whispers. _But on my wedding night, I will remember you._


	9. A Shieldmaiden, Tempted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU. Of course.

**A Shieldmaiden, Tempted**

When the Company arrives, she quickly arranges meals and beds.

Later, she joins them, listens, and considers: 

This device - could it not be used to restore her uncle’s health and strength? Then, they could ride to Gondor’s aid. She too would ride – is she not a shieldmaiden? Could she not be a marshal? Could she not –

How to get it? She eyes the hobbit speculatively.

He flushes, looks away; then looks back, speculatively.

Catching his glance, she gasps; then quickly begins to think: how to rearrange the beds...

Something rouses Sam from his dozing; he wakes abruptly, sensing danger.


	10. Decisive Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Alas.

**Decisive Action**

Gamling pushed his way through the crowd, swiftly surveying Éowyn's disarrayed clothing, the trickle of blood, the crumpled body on the floor. Cool blue eyes challenged him as she wiped off the dagger and slid it back into her boot. _She has more courage than any of us_ , he thought. 

"King Théoden is ... indisposed, and I do not believe Lady Éowyn poses a danger to herself or others. Send word to the Marshals; the Council under their leadership will deal with this. "

He poked the body with his foot. “And get this _thing_ out of here.”


	11. History Becomes Legend

**History Becomes Legend**

Amid the noise and confusion of the tavern, Faramir had to struggle to understand the young Rider, speaking haltingly in heavily accented Westron.

“Your brother, Lord Boromir... well known...noble man, mighty warrior... beloved companion to our Prince. We have for him made a song - ” The boy looked to his friends for encouragement, as Faramir nodded his assent.

Stillness fell upon the room as the Rohirrim sang of bright sun, dark moon, valor, love beyond death. The words themselves were understood by only a few, but the power and majesty of the elegy spoke to the hearts of all.


	12. Courtship

**Courtship**

King he might be, he was still a young man in a strange city. Stone walls closed in on him; and everywhere, too many people, too much noise. He hungered for a moment of quiet, and a breath of air; a blessed glimpse of green to remind him of his home.

He found these things at last, in rooftop garden, high above the city, tucked behind a carved archway. He found also a young woman, dark haired with eyes of grey, hoping to catch a whiff of salt air – the scent of her home.

Shy at first, they sat and talked. He told her of a great sea of grass, and the thunder of hoofbeats in his blood. She spoke of the thousand colors of the ocean in all its moods. _We are all children of the sea, she said, for do we not sleep in a bed of salt water in our mother’s womb, dreaming of this life?_ He wondered at that, but her voice was like music to him.

When they met again, that evening, he took her hand, and did not let go. She wondered at that, but after a while, she entwined her fingers with his.


	13. Fairy-Tale Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU.

**Fairy-Tale Romance**

The King of Rohan was thoughtful.

He had noticed the shy sideways glances between the Third Marshal and Dol Amroth’s pretty daughter. A smile, eyes demurely lowered; a dance, hands lingering about a neat waist. 

What was it Boromir had said? _You have a cousin. I have a cousin. One day we must each wed; think about it._ Théodred had chuckled, then, but the world was different now.

A word, a laugh, a sprightly retort – wit, and not just beauty and lineage! In an instant his decision was made.

_I am sorry, Éomer. Choose another; she is not for you._


	14. Hoyden

**Hoyden**

Though the sand looked smooth, it was actually coarse and grainy under their bare feet. Lothíriel smiled, thinking how shocked Éomer had been when she impulsively plunked herself down on a half-buried log to remove her shoes and stockings. She knew she was being reckless – what well-bred lady would allow a man, not her husband, a glimpse of her ankle? But he had gazed, entranced, at her daring.

Impulsively she grabbed his hand and they danced together into the waves. _Faint heart never won fair lord_ , she thought; his laughing eyes told her that these risks were well worth taking.


	15. Words She Does Not Understand

**Words She Does Not Understand**

Sometimes in his passion he cries out words she does not understand.

She wonders about him then, as doubt takes hold of her heart. Is it a lover’s name he cries? A woman of fire and earth, bound to this soil as he is? Or a companion who has laughed at death by his side, then seized and celebrated in triumph this gift, one more day of life?

In his sleep, he murmurs words she does not understand; but when he opens his eyes, they are shining with light, and as he reaches for her, he whispers words of joy


	16. Aurora

**Aurora**

Green and gold, red and violet, the colors rippled and shimmered in the night sky. It seemed as though there should have been music, but there was only the soft sigh of the wind, and Lothíriel’s amazed gasp.

“What are those lights?” she whispered.

“‘Tis said that a great fire-fox, far to the north, flings the snow with its tail until the sparks fly up to the sky,” murmured Éomer. “‘Tis also said that children conceived under those lights are particularly blessed.”

Laughing, she turned. “Well then, Éomer Éadig, we should not pass up such an opportunity.”


	17. South Wind Rising

**South Wind Rising**

She could feel his heat as he stood beside her, his only touch to lift a tendril of sweat-soaked hair from her shoulder. A child of the southern breeze, she found the sere plain baffling, enervating. She had never imagined a day that she could not welcome his touch. 

_Watch,_ he whispered, pointing to the far edge of earth and sky where the grassland danced and shivered like the sea, under a sky the color of bruises. 

She smelled the rain before it fell: dusty, metallic drops, then the cool tang of autumn, and, finally, the barest whisper of salt.


	18. Elfwine

**Elfwine**

“ ‘Tis a son!” our young king bellows, waking the hall with the exuberance of the cry. 

He would not be hustled away to drink in solitude during the birth, no, not our king! He stayed through it all, wide-eyed, squeezing our lady’s hand; and caught the gasping, howling boy himself, to our chagrin and secret delight.

“A son, a son, a son!” Riders, farmers, farriers, and scullery maids gather laughing in the stableyard to wet the baby’s head. Our grey-eyed sea-queen dozes, smiling, while the king breaks out the mead; then dispatches our very fastest riders off to Ithilien.


	19. Arts and Crafts

**Arts and Crafts**

“A jewelry box? Like the one you made for Eomer King?” His little sister, Ambyre,  
was bouncing with excitement.

“Something similar, “ Grensc replied. “One of the Queen’s waiting-women’s brothers saw it, and thought it would be a good gift for their mother in Dol Amroth. Apparently, “Rohirric design” has become the fashion there.” He snorted, trying to pretend he was not as pleased as he was.

"Dol Amroth..." Ambyre whispered in awe. "Who’d have thought it? You've always been a good and careful joiner, and your carvings look so real. Adding a touch of color to the designs was a wonderful idea! It's so exciting to think of something you've made with your own hands going to some faraway land, selected just because your work is so beautiful."

Grensc ruffled her hair. "I'm merely a joiner, skilled with saw, hammer, and chisel. If not for _your_ designs, my boxes would just be boxes, gouged with a sharp stick and daubed with bits of paint. You, little one, are the true artist, and one day you will be recognized as such.”

Hundreds of years later, artifacts of the “Rohirric Craftsmen” period were among the most popular items displayed in the State Museum of Dol Amroth. They were the object of intense, and often heated, negotiations with the curators of the Royal Collection of Edoras, who continually sought to have the artifacts returned to their rightful home, and to definitively identify the artisans responsible.


	20. The Fords of Isen

**The Fords of Isen**

 

They always stop at the Fords. 

Guards and nursemaids hasten the children downriver, where sheltering trees soften their laughter as they chase minnows and skip stones. Other Riders gather at the barrow, murmuring, passing a flask, pouring libations into the swift-flowing water. 

Éomer, though, simply stands, his eyes faraway, face etched with grief. There is nothing for Lothíriel to do but wait. 

"Too late," he always says. "When I dream of it, he is still living when I arrive, but I am too late to save him." 

She gathers him in her arms as he weeps, desperately, like a child.


End file.
